So Near, Yet So Far
by PinkBlossom789
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Near is yet another pretty thing for Hisoka to play with. But maybe he's more trouble than he's worth - maybe he knows far too much.


Hisoka is drawn to pretty things. Machi, with her sapphire eyes and endearing pouts. Illumi, with his delicate features and intriguing deadpan stares. Chrollo, with his midnight tresses and regal aura brimming with power. But there's always room for more toys to preoccupy himself with, to tease and wink at and lie to.

Hisoka cups his face in the palm of his hand as he presses his elbow into the polished table. He texts heart emojis to Illumi to pass the time while he waits for Kurapika to join him at Yorknew City's finest coffee shop. He insisted on meeting here, instead of an abandoned fairground at midnight, for some odd reason.

It's been fifteen minutes, and Kurapika still hasn't arrived. But no matter. A magician creates his own entertainment.

Hisoka's gaze wanders, a smile seeping through his lips. His eyes gloss over chattering teenagers and businessmen in freshly pressed suits. Finally, he spots a young man of around eighteen years old scribbling away in a leather notebook.

Hisoka can't quite explain what is so intriguing about him. Maybe it's how similar his hair is to Killua's, with its snowy color and voluminous appearance. Or perhaps it's the soulless black eyes with their gears silently whirring, reminiscent of Illumi. It might even be the heart-shaped face and pointed chin that remind him so much of a certain devastatingly beautiful Kurta.

But Hisoka is not one to simply sit around and ponder such things.

Which is why he finds himself seated across from the white-haired stranger in a matter of seconds, leaning back against the chair as he waits for him to look up and acknowledge his presence.

He doesn't. The stranger gives no indication that someone is staring at him, save for covering his page with his left hand as he continues writing with the other. Waves of fair hair tumble across his forehead as he tilts his head forward, forever unblinking, solely focused on the words he forms on the paper before him. He's the sort of mystery that Hisoka spends his days unraveling.

"I'm lost." Hisoka smiles politely, the thrill of the unknown pumping through his veins. "Can you give me directions to your heart?"

The stranger looks up, his brow furrowed. His dark eyes roam over Hisoka's bright pink hair and clown-like outfit with distrust. "If you wanted to know my name, you could have simply asked," he says smoothly, as though speaking about the weather.

"Okay." Hisoka watches as the stranger lifts the plastic cup to his lips, sipping slowly. Adorably frustrated, he removes the lid and pours in an entire packet of sugar. Hints of caramel and vanilla tint the air as steam wafts up from the drink. "Then, what is your name?"

"Near," he responds calmly, and Hisoka chuckles. Near examines him as though trying to assemble a puzzle, his arm now covering the notebook page entirely.

"Well, Near, you've caught my attention. Tell me something I should know about you."

Oh, it's so difficult to read him that it's delicious. His face is beautifully blank as he slips the book up a sleeve of his white button-down, his stare unwavering. "You believe that that's really my name?"

"It's clear that you aren't one to joke around, so what reason is there not to believe you, my darling?"

Near raises an eyebrow. "Terms of endearment are generally reserved for people who know each other on an intimate level." His tone only rises very slightly to indicate the barest trace of surprise. Hisoka's antics have finally caught the unflappable stranger off guard.

"Oh?" Mischief spikes through Hisoka, and he offers a teasing smirk. "Then why don't we get to know each other on a more, as you put it, intimate level?" His long, painted nails graze against the cuff of Near's sleeve, and he stands abruptly in response to Hisoka's touch.

"Hmm. Seems I've touched a nerve," Hisoka says quietly, laughing under his breath, but he's certain Near hears it. "I wonder what could be in that book you're so protective of?"

The straight line of Near's mouth forms into a smirk. "You should be curious. For all you know, your own name might be written in there."

Near walks right up to Hisoka, his indecipherable irises peering into his. Good. He's right where Hisoka wants him now. "I do enjoy men who speak in riddles, Near." Hisoka reaches out to possibly caress his face, or maybe to tuck a lock of wavy hair behind his ear.

Near steps away before either of these things can happen, his face loosening until the smirk has vanished, giving way to an unreadable expression. "Good day, Hisoka Morow."

Something vital seems to be sapped from the air when Near utters the threatening words, verbalizes the name that Hisoka never told him.

Hisoka stares him down, but Near turns and leaves without looking back.


End file.
